Fallout
As soon as I walked into work that day, a hush fell over the office. Yep. They'd all read my diary entry. Or at least enough of them had to make a noticeable difference. I'd only been at this job for the past two years. I got it just before I walked in on David.
Sometimes, I wonder if maybe taking this job, the first job I'd had out of the home in my entire marriage, somehow was responsible for David's affair. It would be a little ironic if I got fired from it because of my diary. The job cost me my marriage. My retelling of my marriage ending could cost me my job.
I shook my head as I began my long trek across the office building to my cubicle. This job didn't force David to sleep with someone else. He'd done that all himself. As to my job, if they fired me, I'd just have to find another one. There was nothing for me to gain by obsessing about it all day. A sense of calm swept over me for the first time since I'd read that stupid entry this morning. Not to toot my own horn, but I think my therapist would be proud of my progress.
Turning on my computer, I forced my brightest smile and opened my email. That was a mistake. My inbox was full. And not in a productive day kind of way. More of a slut shaming, barely veiled innuendo kind of way. Yep. Today was going to be a difficult one. No doubt about that. Still, I couldn't control what other people said about me, I could only control the way I reacted. I planned on reacting like the total professional badass that I was.
My plan, however, started to fall apart almost immediately. Buried in my inbox, nestled between an email propositioning me and one telling me I was going to hell, was a request from my boss to see me as soon as I got in for the day. Dread made my stomach tighten and my hands sweat. Of course, I realized that I could be called on the carpet. I'd just given myself a pep talk about the possibility. I hadn't, however, expected it to happen first thing in the morning.
No use putting off the inevitable. He had, after all, said he wanted to see me as soon as I got in. After putting my computer to sleep, I started the slow walk to his office. A steady hum of wipers seemed to follow each step I took. Every time I turned to spot the culprit, though, the noise would stop and everybody would abruptly return to their workstations. After the fifth time of this scene playing out, I decided not to bother looking anymore. I had the feeling I was starting to appear paranoid.
When I got to the office door, I took a deep breath and tried my best to relax. No matter what happened on the other side of this door, I was going to be a professional.
Nodding to myself, I raised my fist. The wood was cold and hard against my knuckles, but it didn't hurt early as much as the unexpected burst of laughter from behind me. It was bad enough when they were whispering about me. But laughing? Seriously? Like I wasn't going through enough already?
"Enter." The one-word command made my knees weak. And it wasn't with desire. Don't get me wrong, my boss, Juan Carlos, was a sexy man. At this moment, however, fear was making my stomach turn and my fingers tingle. There was absolutely no room in my psyche for desire. Seeing as how it was the one particular emotion that got me into this trouble, I doubted I'd experience it ever again. Goodbye, libido. It had been a good run. I had the stories to prove it.
The small joke made me smile as I pushed open the door. The moment I saw Mr. Carlos sitting behind his desk, however, the paralyzing fear swept through me again.
He was going to fire me. True, I didn't have a morality clause in my contract or anything, but I happened to be one of those poor souls working in a right-to-work state. Basically, my job could fire me for any reason and, as long as it wasn't discrimination, there was nothing I could do.
"Good morning, Mr. Carlos." I cringed as my voice faltered a little. "You wanted to see me?"
It was very distracting the way he never once looked up from his computer screen. What did he find so fascinating that he couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge my existence?
Walking the rest of the way into his office, I shut the door behind me. That was about as far as my wobbly legs would take me, however. My courage had given out. Maybe my therapist wouldn't be so proud of my progress?
"Please, come in. Have a seat." He gestured to the chairs on the other side of the desk from him, but still didn't look up to greet me. "I just need to finish this one thing... There." Finally, he looked up at me and smiled. The genuine warmth of his expression melted a little of my fear. Just enough so I could make it to one of his chairs and sit.
"So...um..." Where did I start? Did I apologize for my sex life being all over the internet? I cringed as I thought of future installments that would most likely go up. The first one was downright tame compared to some of the adventures I'd lived since my divorce.
When I let the thought die unfinished and fidgeted in the chair, Juan appeared to take pity on me. "I suppose you're wondering why I wanted to see you this morning."
My cheeks heated at the insinuation. There was only one reason I could think of. "I think I have a pretty good idea."
"Good. I hate to spring these things on people." He closed his laptop and folded his hands together on top of it. "It's come to my attention that you have a skill set you didn't let us know about."
Was he serious? Was sex in a parking garage considered a skill set? Not that I wouldn't mind exploring that skill set with him. He was hot in a buttoned down, controlled kind of way. With his jet-black hair, warm brown eyes, and his perfectly pressed suits... Every time I see him, I can't help but imagine what he'd look like messy. His perfectly styled hair hanging over his eyes as he looks down at me. Him holding his weight on his arms. One braced on either side of my body. His chiseled abs right at my fingertips. Maybe even a little stubble on his perfectly sculpted face.
I shook my head to dispel the momentary lapse of judgement. He was probably going to fire me. This was not the time to start indulging in fantasies about him. "Skill set, sir?"
Was it my imagination, or did one of his eyebrows lift ever so slightly when I called him sir?
